The Brandy Brigade
by DoctorWhobbit
Summary: When Thorin's company came a'knocking on Bilbo's door, it was the first time he had met them...or was it? Multi-chapter drabble involving the usual Fili and Kili mischief and a young Bilbo.
1. Took's Tavern

It was a strange time in the Shire; the time before wizards came a knocking on the doors of respectable hobbits. Little hobbit children played in the newly-sprouted peach fuzz grass – the type liable to tickle your toes and make you giggle. Laughter and cheer sung through the marketplaces, and hobbits could leave fresh berry pies to cool on the sill without fear of foul play. It was a peaceful time, calm if you will. The calm before the storm, and Bilbo Baggins had just reached his 30th birthday. He was still a child in most hobbit's eyes, fresh as the spring grass and sweet as the breeze that blew over the hill.

At that time, dwarves and dragons were little more than stories to Bilbo, and a knife was something used to spread butter on bread. It was a good time. And like most such times, it was one not likely to last.

For that was the summer of the brandy brigade.

_()_

"Up for another round then, eh Bilbo?" Holman asked over the din and clamor of happy hobbits. Two years Bilbo's younger, Holman Greenhand as a stiff sort of lad, more fond of the company of his plants than of other hobbits. But good strong ale had loosed his tongue that day, and much to Bilbo's surprise, he laughed and sang with the loudest.

"I'll get another cuppa, if you're offering." Falco Chubb-Baggins raised his mug in salute. "Cheers!"

The atmosphere of the Took's Tavern was even more boisterous than usual. Hobbits danced on tables in abundance, and the air was hot and muggy with Mirabella Took's famous seedcakes. Afternoon sunlight dripped through the windows like warm honey.

"You sure you don't want anything?" Holman double-checked, his pale cheeks flushed. Bilbo waved him away. "Go treat yourself."

The gardener beamed and left their table with a jaunt in his step.

Across from Bilbo, his portly cousin Falco sat with an entire seedcake to himself, Gilly Burrows sat perched to his right, intent on her studies.

"Composing a mighty song for us, are you Gilly?" Falco nudged the girl none to gently. She immediately covered the thick paper, sticking out her tongue. Tiny handwriting was still visible beneath her fingers, criss-crossing the paper like lines of ants.

"Yes, a ballad for Falco Chubb-Baggins and his interminable love for Missus Took's seedcakes." Gilly poked her friend's prolific belly. "A masterpiece of literature."

Falco had the grace to look hurt, and Bilbo laughed. "Come now, all of us have a special place in our hearts for Mirabella's cakes."

"Aye, but Falco has a special place in his stomach." Gilly jested.

The two were like siblings the way they bickered, and somewhat in appearance. Falco with his eager stomach, laughing eyes, and quick smile, Gilly shared his dark curly hair, but she had an eager wit instead of stomach, and a slim build. It was an unlikely friendship, and for that it was all the sweeter. Bilbo had met them through Holman, as his gardener had learnt his letters from the same old hobbit who taught Gilly.

"You're one to talk, you eat about as much as one of Holman's plants," Falco was saying. He pinched Gilly's arm, and she responded by stealing a good portion of Falco's seedcake. Squabbling ensued.

Deciding to change the subject, Bilbo interceded, "Have you heard of the party old Uncle Hildibrand is having? He's turning seventy-one, and he'll be handing out the invitations on the morrow." He smiled. "I should very much like to do that when I reach a ripe age, throw a party to go down in hobbit history."

"Sure you will," Falco encouraged.

"One for the books of the Mathom-house. And you'll invite us, won't you?" Gilly said with a grin.

"Of course," Bilbo said. "Though I shant want you to be late, and you ought t'bring plenty of food."

"Enough to feed the whole Shire!" Falco promised, placing a stubby hand over his heart. Food was no laughing matter for a Chubb-Baggins.

"Half a moment," Nose twitching, Gilly looked through the crowds of hobbits, trying to spot Holman's distinctive ginger hair. It was longer than most, due to the fact Holman was more concerned with pruning his garden than himself. The joke was he had a family of mice living there, which, knowing Holman, probably wouldn't bother him in the slightest.

"He should be back by now. Holman, that is." Gilly's eyes, blue as robin's eggs, searched up and down the bar. "It doesn't take this long to fetch drinks."

"Worried about him, are you?" Bilbo wheedled, a knowing smile on his face. Falco giggled.

"Only because he promised to fetch me a pasty," Gilly shot back, but not even the pub's muggy atmosphere could hide the blush dotting her freckled cheeks.

"'Elax," Falco said through a bite of seedcake. "He'll be back quick as bread rises."

"That's not very fa-" Gilly began, but she was cut off by shouts. Loud and shrill, like a mother who has just lost her child.

"The brandy, the brandy is gone!"

_()_

The Brandy Brigade, it was soon called. A rather ostentatious name for the stealing of a solitary brandy barrel, Bilbo thought, but he was not one to get in the way of Mirabella Took and her customer's brandy.

And the single barrel wasn't the half of it. Heavens no. The real intrigue lay with the fiddle. It had been of dwarven make, beautifully crafted, and left in the barrel's stead, lying on the dank floor of the Took's Tavern wine cellar.

"It's crazy, folk leaving instruments in my basement. I have enough din passing off as music in my pub already," Mirabella had said, her nose pinched in indignation.

The tale of the Brandy Brigade swept through the Shire. Nothing of interest had happened as of late, and the gossip was welcome. Soon it seemed that hobbits seldom spoke of anything else, even when young Rory Brandybuck cut his mother's hair with a pair of garden shears. The dwarven fiddle had been put on proud display, attracting a good deal of curious hobbits to Took's Tavern.

"What do you make of it?" Bilbo asked Holman one dusty afternoon. The gardener trimmed his plants contentedly while Bilbo sat on his favorite lawn chair, taking long drags from his pipe.

"Make of it, sir?" Sweat dribbled down Holman's nape, and he squinted up at his master through drenching sunlight.

Bilbo waved his hand generally. "This whole thing. The fiddle and the rest of it."

"Can't properly say. Took's brandy is the best brandy of Brandywine, but she charges a decent price and serves generous." Holman tenderly lifted a leafling from the soil. He seemed to think he had said all there was. And he much preferred the talk of plants. "Look at the roots, Bilbo, all strong-like."

"Bah, Holman. Stick your leafling. I'll tell you what I think the fiddle was, someone's idea of a joke. Uncle Hildibrand used to play all sorts of instruments, and I'll be damned if he wasn't involved.

"It was only a single barrel." Holman grumbled. "And it's more than paid for itself with all the attention it brought. Mirabella has more customers now than her cakes have seeds. No one even would have given a flying fig if this hadn't had something to do with food. "

Holman had a point.

_()_

Granted, dwarves are not over fond of brandy (they prefer a nice ale), nor is it often that they come near the Shire. But as said earlier, it was a strange time, and unlikely suspects were made likely given the right circumstances.

For Fili and Kili, the right circumstance was the dire need to get Thorin a present. Why? Because after an unfortunate hunting incident, they needed to do something to make up for the great and terrible Thorin Beard Travesty.

"Do you think they found the fiddle?" Kili asked his brother, nerves frayed.

By contrast, Fili was completely at ease. He casually slid his knife along a fallen tree branch, producing a cream curlicue that fluttered to join the rest on the forest floor. Blowing on the whittled wood lightly, Fili examined the handiwork. "You left it right in the open, brother. If they don't find it, hobbits are simpler than the stories say."

"But, do you think the fiddle is enough payment for entire barrel?"

Fili looked up at his brother, irate. "That fiddle was made by the master dwarven craftsman of old. Do some thinking for yourself – I should say it was more than enough."

Kili fidgeted. His brother's words were no salve for his conscious. They had stolen a barrel of brandy. An entire _barrel_. Thorin didn't even _like_ brandy very much. They should have lingered in the Shire longer to find suitable compensation, instead of grabbing the first thing they thought of in the middle of the night. The brandy barrel was laughable now, as it sat in the daylight.

Birds twittered in the trees, bright and beautiful, their thick songs intertwining like Ori's knitted wools. Shire birds. It was strange, to be in a place so unfamiliar. Pockets of sunlight littered the forest floor around them like dropped coins. A younger dwarf might have appreciated the whimsical feel of the place, but it only served to put Kili ill at ease. A thief's conscious never rests.

"Well." Fili finally set down his whittling. "Thorin hasn't had anything in the way of a strong spirit for longer than I can count. The cleansing should do him well, he may even forget about…" Fili trailed off nervously.

"…his beard." Kili finished, gulping.

They both knew that wasn't true, and neither looked forward to confronting their Uncle with such poor amends.

_TBC_

**_Author's Note:_**_ The characters in this story, like Falco, Holman, even Mirabella and Hildibrand, are all canon characters taken from the Lord of the Ring appendices (the family charts). Not a lot is said about who Bilbo's friends may have been when he was younger, so I picked Holman – who is indeed Bilbo's gardener – and Falco, who is Bilbo's younger cousin. The only character I own is Gilly Burrows. She was entirely my creation, because I wanted to include a female character and there weren't any listed in the appendices of the proper age. As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Chapter two is in process - **Complete**_


	2. Caught in a Trap

"What is this?" Thorin asked. His voice was deceptively calm, especially for a dwarf whose beard had been horribly butchered by the nephews who stood before him. Parts of an arrow's torn fletching and shaft remained entangled in Thorin's long hair, and the sight of it made Kili and Fili squirm.

"It's brandy…" Fili began.

"I know what brandy looks like." Thorin raised an eyebrow. "The two of you did manage to spare me my eyes. The question is, where did the two of you get it?"

"Deephallow, East Farthing," Kili said quickly. He was intent on picking the dirt from between his fingers. "From Took's Tavern."

"I was unaware that hobbits sold their brandy by the barrel." Thorin looked at the pair of them. He loved his nephews more than words, but at times it was difficult to believe they had ever come from his fair sister Dis. Just on yestermorn's hunting trip, when Thorin had been crouching in a bush for game, they had mistaken his protruding beard for the fleeing end of an otter.

Granted, Thorin hadn't ornamented his beard that day and the mistake could've been easily made, but he had still given the two a strict reprobation on practical hunting safety.

And now they show up with a barrel of hobbits' brandy.

"I'd be happy to take it off your hands if you won't be wanting it," Bombur said from across the campsite. This elicited a few easy chuckles from the other dwarves, who had been pretending not be listening – a difficult thing when strong spirit was involved.

"It's not for you, greedy guts!" Bofur grinned at his cousin. The dwarves were camped out in Old Forest, by the Barrow Downs, and had yet to venture into the Shire for provisions. Scraggly game lived in Old Forest, but nothing particularly appetizing, and the food the dwarves did carry was left from the Village Bree.

"How did you come across this barrel?" Thorin asked carefully. Half of him didn't want to know the answer, and the other half was wondering _when_ exactly Fili and Kili had gotten it - the brothers had been awfully busy. "What method of payment did you use?"

"It was more of a barter, really," Fili said. The young dwarf's eyes roved everywhere, looking at crumbling moss, Ori's knitting project, a stack of sweetmeats…anywhere but his Uncle. "We traded for it."

"When? In the middle of the night? Both of you spent the afternoon hunting, and I've got the evidence in my beard."

Neither of them said anything. Fili looked to his younger brother helplessly, but Kili was stricken, jaw tight as a bowstring.

"Tell me this, then – what did you trade for the barrel? And with whom did you trade?"

Silence. Both brothers looked to the other to say something, and as a result, both remained quiet as barrow wights The bronze afternoon sun sunk low in the sky.

"Fili, Kili, I need an answer. If the two of you have gone and offended the Shire-folk, we can hardly go to them for provisions."

This unleashed a flood of explanations.

"It was the middle of the night, but-"

"No one saw us!"

"Kili's fiddle-"

"We left more than a fair price."

"-no reason to be upset

"_Hold your tongues,_" Thorin roared. "Gods help us, you are of the line Durin, not a line of petty thieves. We do not steal the little people's drink while they lay a sleeping in their beds."

"But we didn't, Uncle." Fili said. "It was a trade, we left a fine dwarven fiddle in the barrel's stead."

"A trade without consent is stealing all the same," Thorin put his head in his battle-hardened hands. "Worse over, any dwarf found in the Shire will surely be accused of the deed. We cannot go to them for food when we are seen as robbers."

_()_

"Holman!" Gilly called.

The young gardener looked up wearily. Sunlight dripped through the Baggins' wooden fence and along the worn cobble leading to the hole's entrance. Beads of glass sweat leaked down Holman's nose.

Gilly watched Holman expectantly. She had a leather bag swung 'round her slim shoulders, and a brimmed hat for her pale skin. Holman could hardly think of a prettier hobbit lass, and the thought made him flush.

"Hallo," he responded, nodding to her.

Pleasantly, Gilly gestured at the wooden fence. "Will I be allowed entrance, good gardener?"

"Oh, right – of course." Holman unlatched the gate, and as it swung forwards Gilly skipped lightly inside. Folding her knees beneath her, she went to sit beside the nervous hobbit. She dutifully passed Holman a trowel when asked, and the two sat in a comfortable silence as the gardener worked.

"What's the bag for?" Holman ventured, motioning to the leather satchel. It seemed Gilly had been awaiting the question.

"A proposition of sorts. I was hoping to get Bilbo and Falco in on it, if they're around."

"A proposition?"

"About the Brandy Brigade – I'm in the mind to catch the culprits. Go to the Old Forest looking for them and make a night of it."

"Why not let the shirriffs handle it?" Holman asked. The shirriffs were a police force (of a kind), three in each Farthing, and identifiable by the feathers worn in their caps. Not they ever had much to do in the calm Shire.

Gilly wrinkled her nose. "The local shirriff is preoccupied guarding the Mathom-house, he's convinced it'll be a target."

Shrugging, Holman patted the soft dirt around a leafling. He wouldn't be concerned until thieves began stealing plants from his garden beds. "And just what is it about a dwarven fiddle and missing brandy that interests you so?"

"Not so much the missing brandy, the dwarven fiddle. Imagine, dwarves in the Shire!" She bumped her shoulder against Holman playfully. "Wouldn't _you _want to meet them?"

Holman laughed. "What are you, Harfoot or Fallohide? You've heard far too many adventure stories from the Tooks. I shouldn't think they're very nice dwarves if they go stealing from our stores."

"Like you haven't dipped into the Took's Tavern store room when the notion struck your belly."

"But," Holman said seriously, "wouldn't we have heard from the Bounders if dwarves had come into the Shire? How do you know it wasn't just another young hobbit's joke?"

"And if it is, all we'll have to show for it is a pleasant night camping in the Old Forest," Gilly urged. "It'll be fun, I….I would really like _you _to come, if you could, Holman."

Holman swallowed, the tips of his ears pinking slightly. "I suppose I'll go, but you'll have to take the matter up with Bilbo and with Falco."

Gilly rocked back on her heels, looking disappointed by the gardener's lack of enthusiasm. Slowly, she stood, taking her leather bag with her. "I suppose I will. Good noon, Holman."

As she walked along the cobble, she looked back at the gardener several times, but not once did he catch her eye.

_()_

"Warm, glistening mounds of mashed potatoes, with a brace of juicy young coneys…"

"Meat so tender it falls off the bone and right into your mouth."

"Fresh bread with just a pat of honey-"

"_Stop_," Bombur moaned, covering his face with his hands. Despite Bofur's gentle teasing, the dwarves were all hungry, and little food had come their way in some time.

The bonfire's fingers flickered, losing their grip on the logs' green wood, and darkness stole in around them. But they were together, so the dusk's contents held no fear for Thorin's company.

"Sorry Bombur, no offence meant," Bofur apologized, patting the large dwarf on the back. Bombur grunted. Next to them, Bifur prodded the fire, releasing sparks that flitted like fireflies into the frosted air.

A few feet away on a moss-eaten log, Balin rubbed his stomach wretchedly. It was lamentably empty, "What are we having for dinner tonight?"

"You, if Thorin doesn't find anything." Bombur was in no mood, no mood at all. There were many things in Middle Earth you didn't mess with, and Bombur's appetite was one of them. He was sick and tired of the other dwarves looking to him to conjure delicious food when he was only given a few half-starved squirrels and unripe tomatoes. He was good with spices, but not _that _good. Why they couldn't just look to the Shire and hobbit-folk for foodstuff was lost on him.

"Shouldn't worry, Bombur," Bofur told him, puffing on an oaken pipe placidly. His face glowed warmly in the firelight. "Thorin and the others left ages ago. With Oin, Gloin, and Dwalin with him, he should be able to bring back a proper feast."

Dori joined them, plopping down in front of the bonfire with a contented sigh. "Nori set out to find some fresh herbs and he dragged Ori along with him – I should expect they'll be back soon enough as well."

"And where are Fili and Kili off to?" Bofur asked. After the brandy incident, the two brothers were seen as the company's collective responsibility, and were rarely left alone – on Thorin's orders.

After a few moments of meek silence, Balin shrugged, "Haven't seen them myself."

"Have you, Bombur, Bifur?" Worry bled into Bofur's words.

"No," Bombur grunted, intent on his satchel of spices. Bifur just shook his head.

"For Erebor's sake," Bofur groaned. "Never mind his hunting trip, Thorin is going to have all our heads roasted on a stake for his supper."

_()_

"Heeeellp meee," Kili squealed, his fear stretching out the plea like tree sap. Fili paced about on the dark forest floor below his hapless brother. What to do, what to do? Uncle Thorin had taught them to handle a good many perilous situations, but the course of action for this one was foggy at best.

Kili was stuck in a hunting trap. One of Thorin's, to be precise.

A leather thong encircled the ankle of Kili's rawhide boot, dangling him precariously from a slender birch. Trying to paw at the leather trap, he only caused himself to swing back and forth like a dwarven pendulum. The younger dwarf thought he might be sick.

"Hold still, hold still," Fili urged.

"This is your doing," Kili flailed about. Fili watched in concern as the branch of the slender birch bent beneath his brother's weight, but Kili didn't seem to notice. "We can find a nice big buck, you said, nothing could _possibly_ go wrong, you said."

"You were the one who stepped in the snare in the first place," Fili said evenly, but he couldn't hide his smile. There was something undeniably entertaining about his younger brother hanging from a tree like a very flustered rabbit in the night's mocking blackness.

"I don't know what you find so amusing, Uncle could show up at any moment," Kili said. Urgency filled his calf brown eyes, but Fili wasn't wavering.

"To the contrary, it should prove very amusing to have Uncle find you caught like trapped game – what ever would he say? Durin's heir, my left boot." Fili's grin bordered on a smirk. He leaned against the very silver birch that his brother hung from, examining his dirty fingernails studiously in the dim light, letting his words sink in. As the older brother, he felt it was his responsibility to antagonize Kili as much as possible. Kili dangled there, saying nothing. They both knew Thorin's tolerance level for their antics wasn't high at the moment.

"Suppose you did my chores for a week and I get you down from that pesky trap, hey?" Fili suggested innocently.

"Suppose you help me down and I help tear that smug grin from your face," Kili lashed out with his fists, but the older brother just ducked away nimbly, laughing.

"Would that I could, brother, would that I could. But I have so many dishes to clean, blades to sharpen, and leathers to hang out to dry. I can hardly find the time…"

"Very funny," Kili grinned, lowering his hands in peace. Looking at the dangling dwarf's face, it was relaxed and harmless, but his voice cut like steel. "Now get me down before I ensure that I'm Thorin's sole heir."

_TBC_

**_Author's Note:_**_ I don't have much to say on this chapter – other than I hope you enjoyed it! About the incident with Thorin's beard, that came to me when I was thinking about why Movie Thorin had such a short beard when dwarven culture appreciates elaborate facial hair. Maybe an earlier mishap appealed to Thorin's practical side – thus Fili and Kili's hunting accident. Yeah…._

_I'm currently on Spring Break, so chapter three should be coming soon! As the story is in progress, any feedback from you guys could really help and all reviews are personally responded to. I'm crazy about writing and improving my craft - I'll talk your ear off about it if you give me the chance, and I'd love to hear what you have to say. _


	3. Fall

Bilbo wasn't one for straying far from Hobbiton, but he couldn't deny the Tookish part of him that adored it. Spring's windy fingers tickled his hair as they walked along. The path unspooled through the trees like dropped yarn, and calming scents of sweet sap and wildflowers reached the hobbits' noses. It was evening, and light had begun to dwindle.

"The pollen's making me nose itch," Falco complained, flaring his nostrils. He shifted his pack from shoulder to shoulder. "Here's a good place to stop for the night as any."

"There should be a clearing up ahead," Gilly insisted. Disappointment was evident on her face. Their trek through the forest had been pleasant enough, but they hadn't found as much as a dwarf's right toenail. "Let us go on just a little farther."

"Ah, Gills, you'll be the death of me," Bilbo watched as Falco feigned exhaustion, toppling forwards and nearly knocking poor Holman over.

By this point in the trip, Holman had had quite enough of Falco's antics. "If it'll stop your tongue-wagging, so help me, I'll carry you on my back."

"I'd like to see you try, flower boy."

Without any more warning, Falco leapt on to Holman, wrapping his arms around the smaller hobbit's torso. To the gardener's credit, he had carried many a bag of composting on his back, and he managed to stay upright for a few precious seconds. But Falco was more than just an ordinary mulch sack, and Holman found himself falling forwards. He tried to give Gilly a shout of warning, but the hobbit lass was distracted and didn't see the falling duo until it was far too late.

Bilbo laughed, looking at his three friends piled together like the contents of a dinner roll. How silly they seemed. "And here are the hobbits that dare chase after burglar dwarves. Ho! I'm sure they're terribly frightened of you now."

"If there are _any _dwarves in Old Forest," Falco complained as he picked himself up off the ground. "I don't think –"

And that's when they heard it, raised voices. Voices with thick, nearly unintelligible accents.

Dwarven voices.

_()_

"Careful with that knife," Kili yelped. His brother was going at the leather band encircling Kili's boot, but to no avail. The leather was toughened, fresh and supple, not brittle and not likely to break.

"I'm trying," Fili said. His tongue protruded from between his teeth. It was hard to get his blade purchase on the smooth band's edge.

"Try harder."

Fili quelled the urge to smack his younger brother.

"If you tried to take off your boot," Fili suggested. "Maybe you could just slide out."

"And fall on my face! Does my discomfort amuse you, brother?" Kili was having trouble feeling his toes, the leather band was so tight. He wobbled his ankle experimentally.

"Perhaps I…I could be of help."

Fili whirled around, gripping the knife in his hand tight. Before him stood a young hobbit, fair of face and with the usual tumble of curly hair.

Not wanting to forget his manners, Fili sneakily (he thought) handed the knife to a flustered Kili. Bowing low, his beard dragged on the forest floor. "Fili son of Dis of the line Durin at your service."

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," the hobbit said pleasantly. He stood for a few seconds, unsure of what to do next. Flushing, he glanced over shoulder, looking for someone. "Excuse me a moment, my friends…"

Bilbo disappeared back through the brush.

"What was that all about?" Kili asked.

"I don't rightly know."

"It was your face that scared him off, by my reckoning," Kili jested. The younger dwarf shifted uncomfortably, trying to prevent all the blood from rushing to his head.

"Says the dwarf hanging upside down with a knife."

"_Your _knife-"

"Shh!" Fili clamped his hand over his brother's mouth. He had heard hobbit voices.

"They're right over here, Gilly." Bilbo reappeared with three other hobbits in tow. One with long ginger hair, one with a generous build, and the third a wee hobbit lass. Ginger was giving Kili a strange look.

"May I present Holman Greenhand, Gilly Burrows, and my cousin Falco Chubb-Baggins?" Bilbo was ever the proper hobbit, even in the middle of Old Forest.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Kili strained. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets like overripe cherries. Blood roared in his ears, and he looked at his brother piteously. "Anyone likely to get me out soon? Thorin could come at any second."

_()_

Thorin was many things, and punctual was one of them. But at the moment, he especially prided himself in being a good hunter. Even in the sevening dark he could spot the flaxen flash of an elk's antlers from a hundred paces.

Not that there are any elk in Old Forest, Thorin thought ruefully.

Oin and Gloin had taken the land to the right of the dwarven camp and Dwalin was back a few feet, watching Thorin's back. Usually it would be Fili or Kili in Dwalin's stead, but Thorin wasn't sure when he would next trust them with hunting a legless baby bunny.

"We're not likely to find any game this close to the barrows," Thorin signaled to Dwalin. Defeat weighed down his words. "Let's head back."

"What about the traps?" Dwalin asked. "Aren't we forgetting them?"

Thorin waved his hand. "I set them only a few days ago, I doubt they've caught anything."

"We're set to go back empty-handed anyways," Dwalin reasoned. "We might as well try. Elsewise we'll never know."

"I suppose," Thorin agreed. "There was a particular trap that was fairly clever. A noose-like structure attached to a tree." He smiled to himself, proud of the handiwork like a father would his son.

"I'll be damned if that one hasn't caught anything. Mayhaps it's caught something big."

_()_

Dangerous.

That was the word that came to mind as Gilly balanced precariously on the tree branch. The tree was a silver birch, and it bent under even her slight weight.

_Achoo!_

The tree rocked from her twitchy sneeze, and the hobbit lass nearly lost her footing.

"Careful, Gilly!" Holman sounded very concerned. She was over ten feet up, with a branch that bent beneath her like a child's hunting bow.

Straddling the slim branch with her knees, Gilly went to work untying the knot that kept the trap in place. Her fingers fluttered nervously. This wasn't how she had imagined her encounter with dwarves going.

"What kind of trap is that?" Bilbo asked Fili.

Fili, understandably, looked uncomfortable at this question.

"It's a triple-knotted noose trap."

"Yes, but who does it belong to?"

"Thorin, my Uncle."

"There are more than just two of you?!" Bilbo's eyes got huge. "Are you planning to steal all of the Shire's brandy?"

Fili laughed, "No, we were just planning on planting dwarven fiddles everywhere." He gave the hobbit a playful push.

He couldn't have picked a worse time.

The knot holding the trap in place had finished coming undone by itself. Gilly gave a shout, but it was far too late for poor Bilbo. He didn't even have time to look up. A heap of dwarven brawn and beard crashed on top of him, and he saw no more.

_TBC_

_**Author's Note: **__Sorry this chapter is a little on the late side! We had unexpected snowfall (during my Spring Break, I know) and much time that would've been spent writing was spent frolicking outside. Yes, frolicking. I'm sorry you couldn't be there, wherever you're from, dear reader, because we would have had a blast. _

_But anyways….You don't care about any of that. You care about Kili and poor Bilbo's collision. Rest assured, chapter four will be out soon. In the meantime, a review would do this budding story (and its author) a world of good. _


	4. In a Jam, a Baneberry Jam

Gilly, Holman, and Falco clustered around Bilbo's unconscious form. Falco brushed a streak of dirt from his cousin's forehead. "What now?" he asked.

"Is he…dead?"

"Did you crack your skull as well? No, Kili, he's just knocked out." Fili nudged the prone hobbit with the toe of his boot. "Tough little scrapper."

Concerned, Holmen bent his knee and rolled Bilbo onto his back, so his friend's closed eyes faced the bright Shire sky. The bruise on Bilbo's forehead was blue of a darker shade, the color of a brewing storm.

"I can carry him," Holman said, but his tone was dubious. With two overnight packs and a Bilbo's not so slender build, the weight might be too heavy, even for him. Amongst the hobbits, even Falco looked weary. A night out in Old Forest looked increasingly less inviting.

"You helped us out of a tough spot," Fili interceded. "Let us help you. We can put you up for the night – granted you don't mind a crowded camp."

Seeing their misgivings, Fili went on. "Your company will be more than welcome! There's food in those packs, and empty dwarven bellies that would give it a happy home."

Of course this was a mistake, trying to get at a hobbit's food supply, but young as he was, Fili wasn't to know. Holman turned to Gilly, hoping she would have something to say in the matter.

"We…er, well." The words got away from her. Indeed there was food in those packs, and plenty of it. But she had her reservations. How many dwarves were there? Certainly not enough for Mirabella's seedcakes to go round.

Kili was looking much better, his eyes clear, his cheeks no longer flushed unnaturally red. In fact, if you looked at the two of them, you'd think it was Fili who had just spent an hour hanging from a tree. His blond beard couldn't hide the ruddy tint that was beginning to stain his face, and his pupils had dilated. His feet felt shaky beneath him.

"Are you alright?" Falco asked. He began to poke at the sickly dwarf, but thought better of it. "You look a bit peaky."

"Peaky?" Fili asked. The term was unfamiliar to him. His speech slurred. "Peaky…Mountains are peaky. They've got, hm, peaks. Are you suggesting I'm a mountain, young hobbit?" He put his hands together above his head in a triangle. "Peaky…L-lonely mountain..."

Kili stared at his brother, alarmed. They both enjoyed a good play on words, but this was different. This was a slouching speech pattern unfamiliar to him. Fili's eyes looked more bloodshot than Kili's had just minutes ago.

"Have you been drinking some of Took's brandy?" Gilly asked. She peered at Fili, who was now giggling.

"No!" Lurching, Kili went to catch his brother, who was in imminent danger of falling on his flat on his beard. He took the question as an assault to the honor of him and his brother both. "We haven't touched the barrel, I swear it!"

As they talked, Bilbo lay on the ground, still unconscious, nearly forgotten, like the jars of jam preservatives that sat in the back of the cupboard in Bag End. Off in Old Forest, the approaching Thorin could be likened to fruit preservatives just the same. Biding his time in the back, unaware the time would soon be ripe.

_()_

"There's something that sets my traps apart, did you know that?"

The light was dim, a tired yellow. The sun just couldn't be bothered to push through all the tree covering this late in the day. Bracken crumbled beneath Dwalin's heavy boots. The brawny dwarf was tromping along behind Thorin, having long given up on any attempt at stealth. When it comes to quiet movement, a hobbit could sneak in circles around a dwarf any day.

"Dwalin?"

"Yes Thorin?"

It would seem that their leader found himself in a more talkative mood than most days, cheered by the distraction hunting provided. Thoughts of their food supply running low was put on the back burner.

Dwalin increased his pace, in step with Thorin. "What is it that sets your traps apart from Bofur's proud creations? Or mine, for that matter." (The subject of traps fondly reminded Dwalin of the time Ori had attempted to knit a trap and wound up with a very odd looking sock. He had been quite literally wound up in it.)

"Have you ever heard of the herb baneberry?"

"I'm afraid not." Herbs were not Dwalin's area.

"Nasty thing. Results in dizziness, and abdominal pains like a warg pup's trying to eat out your stomach. It'll kill most animals if the oil is given a chance to penetrate the skin, or at least subdues them."

"And…you use it in your traps?"

"Soaked into the leather." The opportunity to talk about things other than food (which was the topic of choice back at the camp) was a blessing. "I use thick gloves when handling it. Baneberry won't kill a dwarf, but it can give you an awful headache. My sister Dis got into the stuff once and forgot everything that had happened that day."

Dwalin blinked, processing this. "Is there a reason we haven't weaponized it, this baneberry?"

"To what end?" Thorin looked stunned by the notion. "Making our enemies forget things? That would be underhanded and hard to apply. Not to mention that baneberry remains untested on elves."

_()_

"Fili?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." The young dwarf staggered, putting weight on one foot an then the next, like he was dancing a hobbit two-step. "I don't know what came over me." Fili's hands were raised more than normal, above his waist, flat palmed against thin air. He gestured at Bilbo. "Need to fix him up. Transport him, eh? Our little hobbit friend. Pass me that leather there."

Kili nudged the remains of Thorin's trap over to Fili, his concern by no means gone. He watched as Fili set about working the leather into a new shape.

"Pardon me, but what are you doing?" Holman swallowed hard. He wasn't entirely comfortable around dwarves, especially now that one of them appeared to be tying up his friend.

"'Elax. You didn't think I was going to carry him, did you? We've got weapons to handle." Fili finished fixing a noose around Bilbo's hands and wrists. The hobbit didn't stir. "This way I can pull him along behind us as we head back."

"So you're going to _drag _him." Gilly's jaw worked like she had encountered a particularly tough cherry pit and couldn't spit it out. "Drag him through Old Forest. Hasn't he suffered enough already?"

"Don't worry about it. He's fine."

"A dwarf just _fell _on him."

"Yes, and now a dwarf is taking care of him."

"By _dragging_ him."

Intoxicated as he was, Fili was still his brother, and Kili tried to help him out: "I find it important to not get hung up on the term 'dragging.'"

They stood there, at an impasse. The knotted end of the trap dangled in Fili's hands.

"Look, Gilly," Falco attempted to be the voice of reason. "This expedition was your idea, and now isn't the best time to sour your second breakfast over transportation. It's nearly dark, and there's no way we'll find the path back on our own. One way or another, Bilbo needs to get help. And the only help available comes from dwarves."

Having made up his mind too, Holman patted Falco on the back. "Surprisingly well said."

Gilly sighed. "Avoid the bigger rocks, at the very least. Please."

Fili bowed with a flourish. "At your service."

_TBC_

_**Author's Note:**__ OK, so I have no reason for this being so late. (Well, a metric buttload of reasons, but to summarize into one - life happened) But I plan to be more on schedule this time, uploading a chapter every Friday, not including this week because I'm publishing on a Wednesday (yay?) And I apologize for the shitty fruit preserves metaphor and subsequent pun. I am ashamed. There was no need for that. _


	5. Denizens of Old Forest

Cloves. Bilbo could smell cloves. Well, at least he thought he could. His wrists and forearms were rubbed raw, rawer than a pigeon he had once tried to smoke in ten minutes (the product of an unexpected visit from his Took relatives), and it felt like someone had covered them in an unrefined, gritty salt. Even more than he had put on that blasted pigeon.  
His back slid against pebbles and dirt, bumping and jumping as they moved, and as he came about, he could feel that the back of his hobbit peacoat was getting torn beyond repair. There were rough hands holding on to his feet.

Forest damp greeted his sleep-narrowed eyes. If he had been sleeping. No...that's right. He had been knocked out. The memory was barely tangible in his addled mind, but it had had something to do with dwarves. Two _dwarves. _

_No, no. Couldn't have. Dwarves are folk of an unsavory nature. Not here in the Shire. _

But there had been, hadn't there? Gilly had said so, she and Holman and Falco. They had all went out together into Old Forest.  
Fili son of Dis, of the line Durin, at your service.  
One of the dwarves had been trapped, and he and his companions had helped out.

_So why am I tied up?_

"Whrg."

Bilbo had intended for this monosyllable to be intelligent and polite, but when your lips felt like two grubs fighting to assert dominance, clarity could prove difficult to achieve.

"WHHRRRG."

"What the bloody-" The leather attached to his wrists fell slack as Fili turned towards the noise. "Did you hear that Kili?"

Kili stopped. He set down Bilbo's feet, and the other hobbits stopped behind him. It wasn't so much that darkness had fallen in Old Forest - rather, it had tripped. It lay collapsed among the trees, unwilling to get up until dawn. Kili could barely see a thing. "You don't think it's Thorin, do you?"

"Hrmph." A desire to be polite conflicted with the need to get up. "HRMMPH."

"Bilbo!" Falco shouted. "It's Bilbo! He's trying to get your attention Mr. Fili."

"Someone untie him, for pity's sake." Poking her head around Falco's ample torso, Gilly tried get a look at her friend. Her imagination could see him lying prone, blood entangled in his curly mess of hair.

It really wasn't quite that bad.

Fili knelt, his dwarf eyes struggling in the dimness. He still felt dizzy, clammy, but it wouldn't do to tell Kili in current company. It was obvious that the hobbits thought he was inebriated in some way, possibly with the stolen brandy, and now his method of unconscious hobbit transport was once again put in question. Frankly, it was quite trying.

"AEEEMPH!"

"One moment!" Moving his hands across the length of the leather, Fili made his way to where it should have connected to Bilbo's wrists. The leather wasn't giving him any resistance, as if it were weightless.

_Thwip. _

A rustling made itself heard. Somewhere off the path. Close. Fili stood, anxious, and shouted into the dark: "The hour is late. Who travels the woods unseen?"

Kili grabbed his brother's arm. "It could be Uncle you just yelled at."

"Would you prefer that to have been Uncle, or would you prefer the step of a goblin. An orc?"

Even in the dark Fili knew his brother was undecided on the matter.

"Where's Bilbo?" While the dwarves were talking, Falco had made his way to where his cousin had lain. Leaves stuck to his hands. Wet and cold, like a snake's shed skin. But no hobbit. He found the leather noose that had once held Bilbo's hands, torn as if by teeth. "He's gone missing! Bilbo's gone!"

_()_

Branches clamped onto Bilbo's frame like tongs around wilted salad. Tight, but not overly so, in that Bilbo still felt like he could slip out. A horrifyingly slippery sensation.

He knew the stories, all hobbits did. Even in the dark of Old Forest, especially in the dark of Old Forest, they came back to him, a summer breeze that whispered:

_Trees that can move. _

"Holman!" Bilbo's fingers curled around the soft bark. "Falco!"  
A voice came back to him. Just by his ear. It was more gravelly than a hobbit that smoked too much pipeweed, slower than a spoon of molasses, and all together...tree-like.

"Let us, hrm, not be too hasty."

_()_

It was Dwalin who found them, not Thorin. Granted, Thorin wasn't far behind, but Dwalin was the one who picked up on the scent of orange peel, the scent of something sweet after the bitterness of finding Thorin's trap missing.

The culprit lay in Bilbo's pack, which had spilled, leaving pungent fruit to be stepped upon by panicked hobbit feet. Oranges the color of flame burned at Dwalin's booted feet.

"Bilbo's gone!" He saw a rotund hobbit kneeling on damp leaves. There were two other hobbits, and two other...dwarves?

"Fili and Kili?"

Their heads swung as one to face him, and Dwalin found it was like looking at two bunnies about to be run down by stone giants.

"Fili and Kili!" That was Thorin, having heard Dwalin. His nephews had been far from his thoughts, but now he found them unpleasantly close. "What in the name of Durin...?"

_TBC_

**Author's Note: **So this chapter is a little skimpy because I'm on vacation at the beach, not being productive like most people (shoutout to the Guest reviewer who was reading this after mowing the lawn. I admire your resolve to cut grass into uniformity and wish you well on this task) I wanted something intelligent to say here about movie or book canon...I JUST LOVE ENTS. I suppose I should put that baneberry, while being a real plant, was given completely fictitious side effects and became sort of a Middle Earth roofie. Um. Yeah. I mean I wouldn't know, I have no roofie experience - daterape is bad you guys and shall not occur in this fic.

That author's note got away from me quickly. Hrm. The next chapter will be out soon, see you then :)


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